


Let Me Go

by Sammniamii



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Character Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Misplaced Anger, Out of Character, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, please don't hurt me - i really love Finn, this turned DARK fast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:50:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sammniamii/pseuds/Sammniamii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn lets himself sink deep into depression after letting an important person die. He can't move past the death, instead using it as an excuse to hurt himself (or let himself get hurt). A late night phone call finally pushes him over the edge and it takes his near death to make his remaining friends/family realize that he is not ok.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Adventure Time or any of its related characters. I only came up with this plot.
> 
> This tale is MAJOR out of character for the series. (Yeah - I tend to do that, sorry). This story contains GRAPHIC descriptions of injuries, including that of self harm and suicidal thoughts. This content may be VERY TRIGGERING to some people. Please do NOT read on if these (any of the tags) upsets you or may possibly trigger you.
> 
> And everybody - I really do love Finn. But I also love to hurt him (i'm a sick sad kitty). 
> 
> And.... this is another one of my works that I am writing to vent my internal demons. Updates may not be often, but when the dark hits, I write.

Darkness greeted his eyes as once again they open.  **_My wish wasn't granted_ ** _._ The last thing he had thought before the embrace of sleep took him was he wished he wouldn't wake. He knew wishing never brought him anything, so it was lost to him why he felt that it would work now. Or ever. Yet night after night, he did the same thing. Wish to never wake.

A deep sigh works its way out of his body, another horrid reminder than he was still alive. **_Why was it so hard for my worthless body to simply stop living?_** Slowly, with a great deal of effort, he pulls himself uptight to sit in the darkness of his bedroom. It wasn't completely pitch black, pale moonlight filtered in from the windows, but it had to be early, or maybe it was late. Time had very little meaning to him anymore, other than torment him. Swinging his feet over the edge of the fur-laden bed, he winces when his skin touches the bare wooden floor. It was cold, much cooler than it should be. Or it should have been. When the weather started to turn chilly, he simply ignored the decreasing temperatures. It was too much effort to try and warm the place for just himself, he didn't care if frost formed on the inside of the windows. It wouldn't be the first time, nor the last. Plus, it gave him the odd hope that perhaps the cold would help convince him body to stop working.

Pushing himself off the bed, he stood, swaying slightly in the darkness, waiting for his eyes to clear the sleep fog. **_Why am I awake? What dragged me from the sweet oblivion of sleep?_** Then it hit him, his body or rather his bladder, demands his attention. As much as he wants to return to sleep, he knew better. Sleeping on damp, urine soaked furs wasn't pleasant, as much as he hated his current existence, he refused to live like an animal.

Taking a step forward, he stumbles toward the bathroom, taking his time due to his body's refusal to obey his commands. Slowly, carefully, he made his way to the required room, entering into the bleak space. Thankfully, years of living there had ingrained the location he needed, so little thought was required on his part. Standing there, one hand pressed against the wall, he sighs as he fulfills his body's pressing demand. Finishing, he stumbles over to the sink, reaching for the faucet. If he had to live, he was going to be at least decent enough to wash his hands after handling himself.

The cold water jars his sleep-numbed mind into full wakefulness, his eyes suddenly clear. The sink wasn't its normal white, there were splashes of a darker substance covering its normally clean surface. As the water continues to run, slowly one of the spots starts to dissolve, staining the water a light pink. Watching the darkening water spiral down the drain, his brain reminds him what that substance was... **_my blood_**. Tilting his head slightly, he scans down his left arm, spying the guilty evidence of his stupidity.

His pale skin was barely visible under the dried dark red coating covering his arm. The stain stretched up his forearm, past the elbow and up to his shoulder. There, five deep lacerations were carved into his flesh, the deepest of them still oozing a thin trickle of brighter red. Normally, the sight of such injuries would shock most people into doing something, but all Finn could bring himself to do was stare at the weeping wounds. He had failed once again, it wasn't enough. Turning his face away, he brings it up to stare into the mirror, into his own bluish-green eyes.

Once, those eyes held so much life, so much joy and enthusiasm. The eyes of a care free youth who had everything; friends, family, fame and more. Now those same wonder-filled orbs of his youth were glazed over and listless. Rings of darkened flesh surround his blood-shot eyes. His once golden blond hair hung limp, dirty and matted around his head. Days old stubble and a thin beard did little to disguise his unhealthily pallor. His flesh was deathly pale, stretched tightly across his skull, giving him the over-all appearance of either one who was very ill or on the verge of death.

As his eyes scan further down his reflection, other issues quickly become evident. His pale skin was marred with deep patches of sickly yellow and purple areas, healing bruises of various sizes. Scattered among those injuries were more visible wounds, some fresher than others. Some were just scars, the flesh raised and puckered were his body had knit itself together. Others, deep red scabs barely starting to heal shut. None were thankfully as fresh as the ones gracing his shoulder, but many weren't much older.

Closing his eyes, he stands still, listening to the sound of the water. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't just bring himself to finish things. Part of him _WOULDN'T_ let him. He had a debit that needed to be paid. A single tear forms, slipping free to slide down his cheek. **_My failure_**. He knew that she wouldn't want him to do this to himself, but he had to. He had to be punished, to suffer for his failure. For her life.

Clutching the edges of the sink, a strangled sob escapes him. **_I get to live while she doesn't. I should be the one rotting in the earth, worms feasting on my worthless corpse._** More tears force their selves free as his eyes open, staring not at the image in the mirror, but one burned into his mind. The anger he held toward himself made him tense up, a snarl forming across his lips.

"I'm no hero, I'm only a failure." He can feel the emotions inside building, the pressure inside his skull ramping up. The heartache, the sorrow, the rage at his failure to stop one raving lunatic, one pathetic excuse of a man from ending the life of one he held dear. "NO! No more.....I don't want to remember....." he whimpers, his body shaking as fear floods through his tortured mind. All he can see is Flame Princess, her once beautiful face contoured into a mask of shock, of pain.... pain he caused. That he failed to prevent! Her eyes, the coal black orbs that would always show all the emotions she tried so hard to hide, wide open in terror. All because of one foolish man, one insane fool that he couldn't bring himself to strike down.

Another cry erupts from him as the vision in his head expands, showing the once vibrant flaming body of Flame Princess, lying on the ground, cold, dark and still. Protruding from her chest was a foot long spear of ice, partially melted by the elemental's life blood, her hand still weakly grasping the offending object. Then he sees her killer, the crazed man from Wizard City, the criminal that had stolen the Ice King's crown. He stood there, laughing at the dying princess, mocking him as he knelt beside her. All because he couldn't bring himself to strike that man down when he had the chance.

Wailing, he releases the sink and grabs his head. Everything he felt that day was a fresh as the second it happened.  The horror, the way something inside him broke and died, and finally, the rage. The blinding, thought erasing rage that surged up from within. The rage that drove him to leap toward the guilty man, striking him across the face. That strike had knocked the accursed crown from his head, but it did nothing to extinguish the storm of violent madness raging inside. He beat that man, mercilessly, ignoring his cries and pleas to stop. Only after the man had stopped moving had Finn stopped his onslaught, pushing away from the bloody body to retrieve his fallen blade. Picking up the weapon, he had stalked back toward the bloodied wizard, the man franticly trying one last time to plead with him. Whatever words he may have spoken, fell on deaf ears. He brought down his sword and silenced him forever.

Standing there, gasping for breath like a fish out of water, he could do nothing to stop the memory ripping though his half-healed heart. Shaking, listening to his heart hammer inside his chest, he opens his tear stained eyes. He wasn't standing on that distant plain, rather his own neglected bathroom. Something reflects the weak moonlight, catching his gaze and drawing it to the edge of the sink. Groaning, his hand lashes out, grabbing a metallic object.

It was small in his palm, cold and hard, but comforting. Opening his fingers, he stares at the straight-edged razor, an old world antique that he found many years ago. It had taken him months to learn how to sharpen the blade, longer to figure out how to use the item without drawing blood. Now, that was all he did with it. It was but one of many items he used to punish himself for his failure.

Flicking the blade open, he places the top edge against the skin of his chest, above the space where his traitorous heart kept beating. With the slightest pressure, the metal cuts into his flesh. Gently, ever so slowly, he drags the blade down. Bright crimson blood wells forth, racing the metal down his skin as he carves a line diagonally across his chest. Coming to a stop, he withdraws the blade and places it back against his flesh, this time opposite from the first incision. He repeats the movement, completing the bloody X over his heart. Staring down at the fresh wound, he watches as his blood drains from the mark. There was a good deal pouring out, but it wasn't enough to cover the old raised scars that line the same area. This wasn't the first time he had done this, in this exact location, but thankfully it still had the same reassuring effect.

As more of his life weeps down his chest, his breathing starts to relax, the hammering in his chest and head weaken and subside. The sweet intoxicating pain was there, soothing the overwhelming madness, but it wasn't enough. Gradually the tremors lessen, but the ache, the hallow hole inside was still there. The small blade slips from his hand, clattering loudly in the silence against the floor. It will never be enough, ever. One day he knows that he'll go too far, do too much, dig too deep. It would be easier to finish it fast, to go and finally put his wretched carcass out of its misery. To end it all. But, where was the punishment, where was the atonement for his crimes? He owed her that much and so more, there could be no amount of penance he could pay to even that debit. Nor the one he owed to the contemptible bastard that hurt her. If he wasn't so weak, wasn't bound by a trifling set of morals that prevented him from stopping that madman in the first place, none of this would matter.

"It's all my fault." More tears came, surprising him. In his condition, he shouldn't even be alive, but his body had an agenda of its own. Nearly a month of starvation later, he still held enough strength to move. His body healed enough damage to allow him to continue. All the blood loss, the bruising, even a few broken bones weren't enough to still his aching heart. To numb his broken mind. Living was his punishment.

* _ring, ring_ * The sound echoes throughout the empty treehouse, faint but demanding. Unbidden, his eyes leave the bleeding ruin of his chest, rising up to once again stare at the figure reflected in the mirror. * _ring, ring_ * For nearly a month, the only sounds he heard where those of his own causing. Now, from out of the blue, someone was attempting to breach his solitude.

"Phone? Phone..." Turning from the ghostly sight in the mirror, he stumbles out into the hallway as the sound repeats itself. **_Where did I leave it?_** Fighting off a sudden weakness, he forces his defiant limbs to obey, to march forward as he struggles to remember where he left the nagging electronic device. * _ring, ring_ * The sound was annoying, grating on what little nerves he had left and threatening to bring back the rage he just fought back. **_Why did I keep that thing? No one cares, no one bothers me unless.... they want something._**

Caught in thought, he pays little attention to his surroundings. So when a foot catches on the crumbled rug, he's unaware and trips, falling forward. Years of adventuring experience thankfully trained his body's reflexes to react over thinking and he manages to twist mid-fall, catching himself inches away from smashing his skull against the wall. Sadly, although he spared his head a possible mortal wound, it didn't treat his fresh injuries with any kindness. Pain explodes down his arm and across his chest, ripping a scream from him. Grabbing his chest with his uninjured arm, he curls over onto his side, shaking. Black spots play across his vision as the pain washes though him in waves.

* _ring, ring_ * His eyes roam the area, trying to locate that damnable hellish device. **_Where in Glob....?_**

_*ring, ring*_ His eyes focus on a flash of light, illumining the doorway to his left. Slowly he uncurls, using his good arm to push himself up. * _ring, ring_ * Sure enough, as the sound comes again, the flash joins it. Pushing up, he struggles to regain his feet, careening forward into the room. In the darkness, he can make out various furniture, but not the item he was seeking. Taking a few more steps into the room the sound comes again and this time he can see its location. On a table sat his old backpack, torn and ragged, but familiar. The flap was open, several random items from within scattered across the wooden surface, including the one he was seeking.

Lurching forward, he grabs the strange cobbled-together phone just as it rings again. Its small screen flashes white, momentarily blinding him. Not wanting to deal with its shrill cry, he stabs the receive key, raising it up to his head.

"Hello?"

"Finn, about time!" He winces, pulling the phone away slightly. "What they hey, you shouldn't leave a girl hanging like that man! Where's your manners?" The voice on the line was high pitched, female, but aggressive. He knew who it belonged to; Marceline. But why would she be calling now?

"Sorry, had to find the phone." Another wave of weakness comes over him, leaving him dizzy. Grabbing the edge of the table, he slowly lowers himself to his knees. Pain was everywhere, throbbing in time with his heart.

"Oh, where you asleep? Dude, it’s early!" Blinking as the black spots return, he holds the phone aside to shake his head.

"Yeah.... ah, what you need Mar?" His voice sounds off to him, like he was whispering. **_Am I?_** Leaning his head against the table, the room suddenly lurches.

"Well, PB and I need some help. Seems like _somebody_ lost one of her little gadgets and refuses to do anything until she finds it." He swallows, suddenly afraid they would want him to head over right now.

"Ah.... is it something... that can wait till..." A scream comes from Marcy's end, followed by loud crashing.

"No. I don't think it can. Can you please head over?" His eyes shut as he sits there, trying to make his stomach behave. Between it and the room, he was in danger of becoming violently sick. Breathing deeply, he waits, hoping maybe she'll change her mind.

"Finn?" A faint groan works its way from his throat.

"I'll come, give me some time to get dressed." 


	2. Obedient Servant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own ADVENTURE TIME or any of the characters contained within. I will claim this twisted piece of fiction as mine.
> 
> WARNING - RATING T/M - TRIGGERING CONTENT - descriptions of gore, self-harm and possible SU topics are contained within. This chapter will have less of these, but it's still good to put in warnings, right?
> 
> Haters welcome, comments welcome.

The sound of the phone, slipping free from his fingers to land on the floor, woke him. His eyes snap open, staring in confusion at the expanse of wood directly before his face. For several seconds, he's lost, unable to comprehend where he is or how he has gotten there. Lifting his head away from the wood, it occurs to him that he must have fallen asleep or rather, passed out. Weakly he tries to move, grabbing the table leg to his right. This does nothing more than awaken the pain in his battered body. Gasping, the first to hit him is the pins and needles agony flooding through his legs. Looking down, he sees the pale skin of his legs and realizes that he was kneeling down on the floor. The why escapes him until his view takes in more of his appearance.

His left leg was covered in dried blood, as was his stomach. Following the trail up, his gaze stops at the X carved into the flesh of his chest. It was then that the events of the last few hours come flooding back into his brain. Waking in the night, the panic attack when his memories overwhelmed him and finally, slicing his flesh. Shifting his eyes to his arm, the same picture was repeated. Massive amounts of dried blood coat his appendage, all of it leading to a sizable stain on the flooring beside him. **_How long was I out?_**

Struggling to move, to prevent his numb legs from toppling him over on to his side, his left hand brushes against something hard. Even with the pain throbbing down his arm, his hand instinctively closed around the object. Raising it up to his face, he stares at it in confusion. It was his phone, the screen still lit up. Turning it, he reads the information displayed across the small screen.

"Marceline!" He cries, shifting his hand to grab the edge of the tabletop. The phone call! She had asked him to come out to the Candy Kingdom. **_How long ago? Oh Globbit!_** It took some effort, but slowly he pulls himself to his feet. His legs obey, weakly as the circulation slowly returns. The pain was annoying, but it kept him from worrying too much about the time. Having dealt with the vampire as well as the candy monarch for years, he knows that if he's too late to their call, they'll come looking for him. He needs to move, now.

Still holding on the table for support, he scans the room he was in. His old bag was on the table before him, so there might be something in it that he could use. Leaning forward, his drags the old pack closer, tipping it forward to spill more of its contents across the table. Various object tumble out, bits of rope, broken arrows, coins, more worthless rubbish until a single glass vial clinks down. Dropping the bag, he snatches the glass and brings it up to read the yellowed label.

"Stamina Potion - good for 4 uses." Biting the cork, he rips it free, spitting it on the table. Lifting the vial he stops, just as the glass touches his lip. He should down the whole thing? It would help, but he couldn't remember any details about this potion. How long would it work? Could taking the whole thing kill him, especially in his weakened state? Exhaling, he slowly tips the vial back and swallows a single mouthful. Gagging, he fumbles around, searching for the discarded cork. It was vile, but already he could feel some strength returning to his weary body. The tingling in his legs fade away while the overall feeling of weakness lessens. His fingers touch the cork and slams it back into the bottle. Hopefully he could space out the doses to keep him running for a few hours. It would be best if he had a healing potion, but in his stupidity, he discarded those long ago. If his body healed, he wanted it to be the hard way.

Now wasn't the time to kick himself, now was the time to move. Turning, he heads out into the hallway. First things first, he needs to wash the blood off, then bandage himself. Clothing? A weapon? So many small details, all of them made the whole package that was himself, but how much was really needed?

"Why of all the nights, did you need to call me tonight?" The words come out as a snarl, full of anger. They may have been his so-called friends, but for the last month not one of them bothered with him. No one came by for a visit, not one call, letter or anything. Apparently he was right, they only wanted him when they needed him to do something. Two steps down the hall, he came to an abrupt stop. Why should he go? They would just run him around for some petty crap, pat him on the head and dismiss him with a wave when they had what they needed. Why did he keep jumping at their beck and call?

"Because that's all your good for, playing lap dog to royalty." The words hiss out, barely above a whisper. Forcing himself to move, he works his way back to the bathroom.

Opening the door into the room, his vision takes in the mess that was still littering the place. The sink was a ruin of dried blood, which screamed at him to clean up his stupidity. Glob help him if anyone ever came over and saw it, they most defiantly react badly. Hell, one day Jake might drag himself back to his old home, if he caught sight of this mess… Finn knew his brother would freak. That’s all he needs, an overprotective mutt hovering over his every move. No thanks.

Stepping forward, his foot comes down next to an object on the floor, the glint of metal catching his eye. His razor lay on the floor, in a puddle of drying blood. Reaching down, he carefully picks up the item, sliding the blade back into the handle. It was small in his palm, so innocent looking and yet he understood firsthand what it could do. An imamate object that somehow understood what he needed more than any of the flesh and blood creatures surrounding him. Reaching over to put the razor on the sink, he catches sight of his face in the mirror. He still looks like Death hit him with an ugly stick, but there was very little he could do to alter his appearance on such a short notice.

Turning on the water, he turns away, dreading being caught in memories he didn’t want to resurface. He couldn’t risk becoming lost in his own head, the clock was ticking. He needed to clean the blood off, to get moving before his tardiness was noticed and someone comes looking for him. On the towel rack hung two towels, both dirty but they would work for what he needed. Grabbing the white one, the dirtier of the two, he holds it under the water. Soaking the cloth, he proceeds to gently wipe the dried fluids off his body, starting with his arm. He managed to get most of the mess off, but when he touches the wounds on his shoulder, pain shot through his body, making his stomach clench. Not wanting to risk becoming sick, he rewets the cloth and turns his attention to his stomach and legs. Thankfully the blood came off easily, he didn’t want to take the risk of standing in the tub, trying to shower off the mess.

Tossing aside the ruined towel, he grabs the remaining one from the rack. It was bright blue, mostly clean, but would work as a make-shift bandage for now. Realizing that the one thing close enough to cut the towel was his razor, he grabs the bright blade and starts ripping the towel longwise, managing to make five long strips. Putting the blade down, he grabs one strip, folds it in half, then gently placing the material against his shoulder. Sharp stabbing pain washes down his arm, making him clench his teeth. Holding up his arm to keep the material balanced, he reaches for a second strip, putting the end in his mouth. Carefully, he starts to wrap the material around his shoulder and upper arm. It was harder than he expected, trying to keep the first cloth from moving as he wraps the longer strip. Slowly but surely, he manages to get the whole length wrapped around, tucking in the end at the edge. His arm felt like it was on fire from the inside, his head wasn’t helping as it throbbed in time to the fires. Looking down at the x across his chest, it crossed his mind to let it be exposed, it wasn’t bleeding anymore and he barely felt any pain from that area. And what would happen if he bumped against something and reopened it? Sighing, he grabs another strip. That was the last thing he needed to have happen, blood soaking through his shirt in front of both a vampire and the candy princess.

Wrapping the next strip across his chest, he pulls it over the bandage at his shoulder. It would also help hold the other one in place, securing it so when he moved that arm, there would be less risk of it shifting or coming undone.  It took several more pain filled minuets to finish wrapping the remaining strips. When he was finished, he forced himself to stand before the mirror, checking over his work. It should hold, should keep any blood that might leak contained, although it was somewhat bulky. Thankfully it was getting colder, he could double up on shirts or manage even dig out a jacket. Wounds taken care of, he turns from the room and heads into his bedroom. Clothing was next on his agenda.

The room was littered with various piles of clothing. With none one here but himself, he didn’t care about keeping up appearances. People couldn’t be bothered with him, why did he have to do the same? Heading toward the closest pile, it took him several tries before he found a pair of pants that weren’t either heavily soiled, torn or reeking. The only pair that fit that narrow list was a pair of black jeans, the ones that Marceline had talked him into buying a year ago. Something about them showing off his body better than his comfortable baggy ones. He only wore then when she asked, thus why they were probably the cleanest pair left. Heading toward his bed, he sits down, slowly putting them on as he continues eyeing the chaotic mess inside the room. Most of his shirts where beyond wearing, some were too small, others torn or stained. Knowing that he could wear a stained or torn one underneath, he just had to find a clean enough long sleeve shirt. Standing, he fastens the jeans, heading toward one pile on the far wall. It was small, not even a real pile as it was a single item of clothing. Reaching down, he picks up the deep navy shirt, searching it over. Nothing was on it, no holes and after a quick sniff, it didn’t reek. Bonus points, it was also long sleeve. Turning, he spies one of his older blue tees in the light filtering in from the window. Draped over the drawer that had been Jake’s bed, he could see from there that it looked as if would also fit the bill. Sparing no extra thought, he crosses the room, grabs the second shirt. Gritting his teeth, he pulls the lighter blue shirt on over his head. It took effort of bring up his left arm, the bandages pulled against the wounds underneath. Sliding his hand through, he grabs the second shirt and threads its sleeve over his hand. Tugging, he managed to get both shirts over his shoulder at once, quickly pulling his other arm into place. Standing there, he took a deep breath, waiting for the throbbing in his shoulder to recede. He knew the movement must have reopened something as he could feel new dampness against his skin. There was no time to unwrap the makeshift bandage, all he could do was hope it wouldn’t soak through everything. Turning towards the ladder, he makes a mental check mark on his list. Clothing, done. Next up…. Shoes? A weapon?

Standing in the dark living room, he searches the shadows, looking for the black sneakers he always wore. They were getting close to falling apart, but they were comfortable. Sighing, he walks over to worn sofa, kneeling with one leg against the cushions. Bending over, he looks under the dark space under the furniture. There was something there, but it didn’t look large enough to be his shoes. Standing back up, he staggers as the room reels, his vision dimming. Sitting down hard on the sofa, he grabs his head, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. A wave of weakness washes through him, exhaustion hits him hard. No, he had no time for this. The potion must have worn off. Sitting back, he leans over to dig in his front pocket, pulling out the glass vial. Uncorking it, he drains a mouthful, unsure and uncaring about the dosage. A warm feeling follows the potion down to his stomach, easing the weakness from within. Leaning back, he waits the few minuets it would take to fully affect him. His eyes scan the room, falling on an object hanging off the back of the kitchen chair. Glowing in the darkness, he realizes what he was staring at, his old hat. Or rather his replacement hat. His old one had become too small years ago. Not wanting to go hatless, he found a suitable replacement, it was white like the old one, but was more of a hood with long ties. It also lacked the ears that graced his old one. As he aged, he found himself disliking more and more of the childish stuff he used to love, including things like the ears on his hat.

Finally free of the weakness, as he sits forward, his toe knocks against something underneath the table. Leaning over, he sees the familiar shape of his shoes. Pulling them out, he carefully slides them on, not wanting a repeat of the disorientation from earlier. Standing, he heads into the kitchen, snagging the hat off the chair. He honestly didn’t care about wearing it, but it would serve two purposes. Firstly, it hid the mess that was his hair. He didn’t think either of the women knew that he chopped of his golden locks a while ago. It was easier to not care about short hair, and considering the current state of his, it was easy to see he didn’t. Second, they expected him to arrive wearing the damn thing. If he showed up, not in his standard blue clothes and trademark white hat, it would send up more flags than his appearance. His could push his appearance off on being exhausted from some random adventure and them waking him up in the middle of the night.

At one time, he would have loved to have them notice something was wrong. To spot the difference in his appearance, to notice his change in mood, the way he avoided spending time around them. Anything, anything at all. His heart would have leapt in joy if one of them had taken the time to ask him if “he was ok”. But long ago, he gave up on that dream, as time went on, he realized they either missed the small things or they didn’t care. He had decided that they didn’t care. He was beneath them, a tool for them to use and unless he was too broken to function, they didn’t notice anything wrong.

In his mind’s eye, he was deserving of the punishment he enforced upon himself. None of his so called friends or even family had noticed the change in him. He was something that dwelt in the background, like wallpaper. Always there, but completely overlooked. Even when he wasn’t there, they failed to notice. No one came searching for him when he started disappearing. First for a week, then two, slowly working up to a month.  Not one call, not one random visit, not even a simple letter through the mail. He was so easily forgotten, that is, until someone needed something. Then they remembered Finn. Then they sought out their well-used tool, expecting him to snap to attention like a servant. Worse, like a dog. Standing in the dark, hands clenched white knuckle tight, he fought back the tide of anger that seethed like a living thing inside him. He hated the way they took advantage of him, always taking, always asking for more, never offering anything in return. Not even the simple act of companionship.

“Then why do I keep listening to them? Why do I keep answering their calls?” His voice broke the silence of the house, sounding more like a low growl than true words. He wanted.. **_What do I want?_** **_Am I allowed to want anything?_**

“No… I lost that privilege.” His head drops to his chest as the anger melts away. Tension drains from his figure, his shoulders dropping in defeat. It takes everything he has to keep standing, refusing to give in to the heartache that lives inside his chest. No, he lost the privilege of needing things when he failed. He failed to live up to the obligations both himself and others heaped upon his shoulders. His job was to protect others, to help those in need.

“And I failed…” He can barely force the words out of his mouth, but can hear them ring through his head as loud as a firecracker. A lone tear winds its way down his cheek, falling from the side of his jaw to splash on the floor. The memory of what he was doing resurfaces. Jamming the hat on his head, he moves toward the ladder leading to the front door.

Taking his foot off the last rung, he turns, aiming not for the door, but rather the suit of armor standing in the corner. Draped over the suit were various things, a coat, an umbrella, a small handbag. What he reaches for is a plain wooden scabbard, attached to an equally worn black belt. Carefully, he starts threading the belt through the loops of his jeans, making sure that scabbard would end up on his left side. Normally it wouldn’t matter which side his weapon hung, he could easily use either hand, but with his left shoulder injured, he was limited to his right hand. Walking toward the door, he buckles the belt in place. He was ready, cleaned up, clothed and armed. His right hand brushes against his front pocket, feeling the glass vial tucked inside. The tool was as ready as it could be, now there was only the part of getting it to where it was needed. Sighing, he pushes the door open, stepping into the darkness beyond.


	3. Prolonged Use May Result in Permanent Damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own ADVENTURE TIME or any of the characters contained within. I will claim this twisted piece of fiction as mine.  
> WARNING - RATING T/M - TRIGGERING CONTENT - descriptions of gore, self-harm and possible SU topics are contained within.  
> Haters welcome, comments welcome.

Marceline stood in the center of the hall, listening to the various sounds coming from down the way. Beside her stood the small form of Peppermint Butler. They both look at each other, then back down the hallway. A loud crash echoes, followed by some rather colorful cursing.

“I thought that was a dead language?” Marcy muses out loud. She had fled the room PB was searching through after the third item came sailing dangerously close to her head.

“It is, but the Princess still uses it from time to time.” Marcy would always be surprised by Bubblegum. The woman was a mystery, wrapped in...in... _something?_

“Dang it.” Pep But looks up at her, but sees that she wasn’t directly addressing him. She mutters softly to herself. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she checks the screen. More than an hour and a half has passed since she called Finn. Knowing she woke the boy up, he would be somewhat late. _**Where was the little wennie?**_ He was the calming influence she needed to get PB to behave like a normal person, rather than a screaming manic. A screaming destructive manic!

“Wasn’t Master Finn coming?” Pep But asks, flinching as another loud crash is heard. This time something flies out the open door, smashing against the opposite wall.

“Yeah, but I woke him. You know Finn takes forever to get moving.” She smiles, remembering some of the drastic measures over the years she has had to use against the human. One thing she could say about Finn is he never did anything half assed. Including sleeping, eating and being colossally late.

A muffled boom sounds from the end of the hall, she swore she could feel a mild vibration through the floor matching the sound. If he didn’t get here soon, PB was going to destroy half of her castle trying to find whatever damn piece of “super important” scientific crap she lost. If it was so damn important, why didn’t the woman remember where she put it! A voice from behind breaks her out of her thoughts.

“What was that sound?” Startled, both Marcy and Pep B spin around, coming face to face with Finn.

“It would appear the Princess is having difficulty locating …ah, some item that she deems important.” Peppermint Butler answers, wringing is hands. Another loud crash comes from down the hall, causing him to jump. He looks at the vampire, distress clear on his red and white striped face.

“If you and Master Finn have things in order, than I shall take my leave.” He quickly mutters, already starting away to move. By the time he got next to Finn, he breaks out into a jog, fleeing the area before his nerves were completely shot. Finn watches the little candy man run away, envious that he could escape dealing with the Princess so easily.

“Wow, he sure gets worked up, huh?” Marcy snickers, shaking her head. Floating up she drifts over toward Finn, circling around him once before dropping down beside him. She eyes him, taking in the details of her friend. Over the last few years, Finn finally got his growth spurt, shooting up like a bean stalk. He was now as tall as her and she knew he was still growing, he would end up taller than her. Along with the height, he lost his cute baby fat and picked up some true muscle, which even under his two shirts, she could see. Tonight he showed up wearing those black jeans she knew he hated, two layered blue shirts and his white hood. A scruffy pre-beard made the hood look odd, but it still was all Finn. At his side was his trusty sword, still housed in that ancient scabbard. She gave him a perfectly good, new, metal one, but he still wore that battered wooden monstrosity. One day, she was going to make sure that thing befell a horrible accident. Looking up at his face, she sees he looks tired, no, strike that, exhausted was more like it. Dark circles frame his blood shot blue eyes, his pale complexion making them all that more noticeable. If she didn’t know better, she might think he was ill.

“Damn Finn, you look like you are half dead. No wonder it took you some time to get here. You must have been out cold, huh?” She elbows him in the side, making him grunt and stumble to the side. He regained his balance fast, turning to glare at her while rubbing the new sore spot.

“Yeah, been busy and was trying to catch up on my sleep. Sorry I took so long.” She watches him, he seems off, but she couldn’t put a finger on what could be wrong.

“You alright man, you look under the weather?” A pang of guilt worried her thoughts. Maybe he was sick after all.

“Naw, just uber tired.” He yawns, putting up a hand to half hide it.

“You not suffering from insomnia again, are you?” He blinks a few times then leers at her, maybe that was his issue. He went through spells of insomnia that left him awake for days, only to finally drop where he was when his exhaustion became more than his body could deal with anymore. She gives him what he calls the “Mothering Eye”, complete with the obligatory frown.

“No, I was just out doing things all week. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I hit my bed.” He had to distract her before she tried more aggressive methods of getting information out of him. He just wants to get whatever she wanted done and over with. Taking a few steps down the hallway, he points toward the only open door visible.

“So what is causing all the noise?” Sighing, she gives up trying to get Finn to fess up. Finn would be Finn and they had more important matters to deal with. Floating up, she flies past Finn, turning to face him.

“Bubblegum lost some science thingie,” She waves a hand through the air, rolling her eyes, “and has been tearing up the place trying to find it.” She continues flying backwards, letting Finn match her pace.

“Any clue as to what?” They both knew PB could get destructive when she lost things.

“My spectrum sample analyzer, that’s what.” Marcy rotates mid-air, spying the resident candy monarch standing in the open doorway. Finn takes the last few steps, stopping between them.

“Ok, as I said, Science Thingie.” Bubblegum groans, throwing both arms up into the air in defeat.

“It’s NOT a thingie, it’s a tool and I NEED to FIND IT!” The candy woman shouts, clearly worked up into a royal tiff. Her hair was wild, tangled mess. Her lab coat had random stains covering it, as well as a few burn marks and rips. She had her glasses on, but they were sitting low on the bridge of her nose, one lens dusted in a white powder. It was her eyes that gave him the understanding of why Marcy had called him. Bubblegum had that manic gleam Finn recognized as marking one of her infamous Science Binges.

“Ok, PB. Explain to me what you are looking for, I’ll help search.” He offers up a weak smile, hoping to placate the annoyed monarch. Bubblegum closes her eyes, takes a deep breath before putting her arms down at her sides. Opening her eyes to holds her hands up in front of her, about a hand width apart.

“It’s a metal box, roughly this big.” She moves her hands to give a visual example of the items dimensions. “It has various knobs on the front, plus a small screen. There is a larger bulb sticking out of the top.” Finn nods, keeping his smile plastered to his face. Her description was vague, not horribly helpful and could describe more than half of the machines in one of her labs. This was going to take considerably longer than he had both patience and stamina. He could already feel a slow creeping weakness spreading through his body. He had to wait till the last minute before taking another dose, his best guess was there was only two good mouthfuls left.

“Alright. Where have you already looked?” Marcy watches Finn handling Bubblegum. She knew he would be able to calm her down, even if they no little chance in hell of finding her gadget.

“Labs One-A and One-B. Labs Two-A is destroyed, so if it was in there, it’s gone. Oh…I wonder if I should dig out...” Marcy reaches out and snaps her fingers in front of PB’s face causing the woman’s eyes refocus.

“Concentrate Bubbles. Any other places?” PB blinks, then reaches up to push her glasses into place.

“Lab Two-B. That only leaves the four labs on this floor.” She whirls around, waving one arm at the open door. “It’s not in this lab.” Marcy can’t help but roll her eyes again. From what she can see inside the door, there wasn’t much of said lab left. It looked more like a dump, the place was totally trashed. She was not helping her clean.

“Ok. Good. You take,” Finn looks around the hall, spying three other doors. Turning to look past Marcy’s shoulder, he points at the door opposite of the room she just finished. “You tackle that one. Marcy and I will look in,” He points to the remaining doors. “Sound good?” Bubblegum nods, digging into her coat pocket and pulling out a large key ring. Flipping through the multitude of various keys, she finally pulls two off, handing one to each of them.

“If you spy ANYTHING that looks like it could be it, yell. I’ll come and check.” She rotates another key out. Brushing past Marcy, she unlocks the door behind her. Marcy looks down at the key in her hand. **_How do I get caught up in crap like this?_**

“Well, you ready?” Looking to Finn, who slightly nods, still looking weary. It would be nice if they found PB’s device fast, but she has a sinking feel that luck wasn’t on their side. She hopes he can tough it out. He was her Ace to deal with Bubblegum, especially while she’s eyeballs deep in science. They turn to the remaining doors, each going to stand before one. They both put in their keys and turn, only to find the lock won’t move.

“Switch.” Finn says, already turning around. They switch doors and repeat the motion. This time both locks click open. Marcy snorts, tucking the key into a pocket.

“Good luck Finn, I have a feeling we are going to need it.” He nods, realizing she was very correct. Opening the door before him, he steps into the darkened lab. Lifting his hand, the pats the wall by the door until his fingers land on a switch. A quick flick and the lab is bathed in bright white light.

The place was clean, to a ridiculous level. In the strong light, everything that was made of metal reflected brightly, like tons of glittering little gems. Sighing, he walks into the room, leaving the door open. Scanning the room, he works on figuring out where Bubblegum would put something like she had described. It was a tool, but it sounded important. It couldn’t be something she used regularly, since it wasn’t in a place she could easily access. That meant it was packed away. A glance around the lab left him feeling that this was a hopeless endeavor.

There where counter tops lining three out of four walls, the last taken up completely by a massive whiteboard. Each countertop had a set of cupboard above, drawers and more cupboards below. One wall had a massive sink set into the counter, another had what looked like a glass doored cabinet tucked at the end. Add to that the island in the center of the room, which had drawers built into the sides he could see. There was an insane amount of places to look.

Rubbing his temple, he turns toward the first countertop closest to him. He head was beginning to ache, the weakness was continuing to spread. His exhaustion was getting harder to ignore, but he had to wait. Even just to search this room, it would take a couple of hours. Forcing his body to obey, he starts opening doors, digging though the contents of each one, before sliding over to the next. He left the cupboards he searched open, a marker so he wouldn’t forget and research them endlessly. By the time he finished the first set, his headache had grown, making his eyes hurt in the screamingly bright light.

Closing his eyes, he leans both hands against the countertop. **_Why the hell am I here?_** A wave of nausea hit him, making his head pound harder. At the rate he was going, it would take the rest of the night. If he even lasted that long. Anger boils up, making him open his eyes and stare sightlessly at the empty counter before him. He was so sick of being her puppet. Her servant, her damn tool. She would have him trapped here for hours, caught in a worthless search for some pathetic trinket. **_If we Globbing find it!_** After, she would snatch it away, hustling back to whatever lab she had been holed up. She wouldn’t offer one word of thanks, or even consider what type of effort had gone into helping her. Nope, we are nothing but tools to her. Use it and put it aside.

He grabs the handle of a drawer, yanking it open. He didn’t expect it to come off its tracks, pulling completely out. Once out, it falls free of his hand, spilling its contents across the floor. The loud crash made his head feel like someone smacked him, hard. The nausea rose up, this time his stomach wasn’t in a mood to play. Turning, lurching toward the sink, he staggers over to lean in head first and vomits. His vision blacks out, the force behind his retching drives the pain in his skull to new levels. He feels his knees give way and slides back and down, landing hard on the cold floor. Unable to see or move, he forces his hand to the pocket holding the vial. Fingers brush against the glass, closing tightly. It takes everything he has to pull it free and up to his mouth. He grips the cork in his teeth, although he knows it will cause his head to get worse, he can’t use his other hand. That was the only thing keeping him upright, it was his pillar. Slowly working the cork free, it lets it drop from his mouth. Raising the vial, it knocks it lightly against his teeth, but seals his lips around it. Summoning up one last push, he leans his raging skull back and swallows back a mouthful of the vile concoction.

Gagging, he lowers his hand, making sure to keep it upright. All he needed was to let the remaining potion spill on the floor. Sitting there, he doesn’t move until the pain starts to recede. It was slow going, the weakness left first. Then the headache lessened. When he felt like moving was doable, he opens his eyes. His sight was back, the first sight he saw was the vial in his white knuckled fist. He saw the cork, lying next to his other hand. Carefully he pushes up, finally having enough strength to hold himself up. Grabbing the cork, he stoppers the vial, returning it to its pocket.

That was close, he waited too long. Let himself get too worked up, too stressed, which probably caused the potion to wear off sooner. Gently, he reaches up and grabs the edge of the sink, pulling himself back up to his feet. Once on his feet, he saw the mess in the sink. Turning on one of the taps, he waits as the mess flushes down the drain.

“Finn?” It startles him, making him grasp the edge of the sink tightly. He tilts his head slightly, managing to spot the intruder as Marcy. She was hovering in the doorway, watching. **_Great, how much did she see?_**

“Yeah?” His throat burns, his mouth had the aftertaste of stomach acid. Stable enough to let go, he reaches out, cupping his hand under the running water. He rises his mouth with the first handful, swallows the second. Turning off the facet, he takes a deep breath.

“Hey, are you alright?” Her voice was nearer, meaning she was intent on checking on him. Turning from the sink, he faces her, managing to twist a smile on his face. Sadly, it must have broadcast something other than what he planned. She finishes crossing the room quickly, landing next to him.

“Finn, really, are you alright?” She reaches out to touch his forehead, but he leans his face away from her.

“I’m fine Marcy. Did you find it?” All he can do is hope she did, allowing him to flee. She doesn’t answer, just keeps standing there, eyeing him, entirely too close for his comfort.

“You’re lying, Finn.” A hard look came over her face. He never could lie to Marceline. Somehow she always seemed to know when he wasn’t telling her the truth. Why now of all the times, did she seem to give a crap about him? Giving her an annoyed sigh, he pushes past her, hoping she would take the hint and leave well enough alone. He got almost out of her reach when her hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder. His left shoulder.

Instantly pain coursed through his arm, making him cry out and wrench himself forward. Marcy was stunned by his reaction, but managed to keep her grip on him. Reacting to the continuing pain, Finn twists, using his good arm to shove Marceline harshly back, this time freeing himself. Marcy stumbles back, smacking into the sink and falls, landing hard on her butt. Finn wobbles, his balance shot, but manages to keep his feet. Pausing to look down at Marcy, he stands there panting.

“Finn?” Marcy asks softly, concern on her features. He shakes his head, stumbling backwards toward the door. He’s had enough, he’s done.

“Just leave me alone.” He turns and flees out the door. Marcy just sits there, stunned by what happened, by Finn’s reaction. Why would he act like that? She puts her hands against the floor, attempting to stand and her right hand slips, dropping her back to the floor. Lifting her hand up, she holds her breath at the sight. Instead of the pale skin, there was red. A lot of red, fresh and still wet. She looks over to where her hand rested on the floor, there was a red hand shaped smear. Why was there blood on her hand?

In a daze, she floats up, righting herself. She looks out the door, flying over to hover in the middle of the hallway. The place was barren, empty.

“Eureka!” Comes a scream from behind her. Footsteps come racing out in the hall as Bubblegum emerges from the lab, holding a small silver box in her hands.

“Finally I found it. Hey guys, you can stop looking now.” She shouts, her gaze never leaving the surface of the box she held. She could now continue her experiment, her excitement almost making her miss the startling lack of reply. “Guys?” She looks up from her prize, seeing Marcy hovering in the middle of the hallway. Slowly she turns toward PB. If Bubblegum didn’t know better, the vampire looked like she was lost.

“Marcy, are you alright? I found my instrument, we can stop the search.” She holds up the box as she walks over to join her. Marcy lands as she draws near, still looking out of it.

“Hey,” She waves a hand in front of the other woman’s face. Marcy blinks a few times, then focuses on Bubblegum.

“You alright.” Marcy nods, unable to voice any words. Slowly she raises her hand at Bubblegum, palm out. She gets it halfway up before her voice returns.

“I’m fine, but I think Finn’s hurt.” Bubblegum looks from the vampires face to her raised hand, noticing for the first that it was red.


	4. Playing Hardball to Loose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own ADVENTURE TIME or any of the characters contained within. I will claim this twisted piece of fiction as mine.   
> WARNING - RATING T/M - TRIGGERING CONTENT - descriptions of gore, self-harm and possible SU topics are contained within.   
> Haters welcome, comments welcome.

He ran, well at least jogged at a rate faster than a walk. He hurt, plain and simple. His head was beginning to get the ache again, his shoulder throbbed. As soon as he exited the castle and sure no one was following him, he had taken a few seconds to look at his shoulder. Touching the shirt, he felt dampness under her fingers. Pulling his hand away, he saw the red on the tips. The wounds on his shoulder had reopened, again. This time it was bleeding enough that it soaked through the makeshift bandages and his shirt. He had little choice now, he needed to leave.

Moving again, he hears a shout come from the castle. It was too faint to make out who produced it, but it was just more incentive to push himself on. Years of dealing with the Candy Kingdom gave him knowledge of the layout of the areas surrounding the castle. Working his way through the back streets, he took care to avoid the main avenue or anyplace that would still have people up. Winding through the sugary buildings, he finally caught sight of the portcullis of the main gate. He had to pass through quickly, it being one of two entrances into the walled city, there was a high chance he could be spotted. Crouching within the shadow of the closest building, he waited several tense minutes. No Banana Guards crossed the opening, meaning the way out was open. Darting from the shadow, he races across the drawbridge into the woods beyond.

He knew they would follow him, both Marcy and PB. If his hand came away with blood, he knew Marcy’s would probably have the same crimson coating. She might think she hurt him, or more likely, that he was injured. Either way, she would go after him. It always struck him odd that the one person who was technically dead, cared the most about his life. Marcy had taken it upon herself to safeguard him, although it took him years before he caught onto her antics. Bubblegum, she wasn’t as bad as Marcy, but she would also be worried. Well, maybe, it all depended on if Marcy could break her out of her science funk.

As he put more distance between himself and the Castle, he stopped pushing himself so hard. Or rather, his body started to revolt against his orders. The headache from before was back, pounding in his temples in time with his heartbeat. His shoulder was awash in pain, it sank its teeth all the way down his arm and up into his chest. Even the cuts on his chest hurt. The harder he tried to push himself, the weaker he was becoming. The running was causing the potion to burn out of him faster. He would have to take the last dose of the potion soon.

As the pain grew, he slowed down to a stumbling walk, lurching forward drunkenly, almost bouncing off the trees. His head felt odd, the headache was still there, but it felt like he was disconnected from his body. A passenger along for the ride and unable to do anything but shout helplessly. It was only a matter of time before it happened, but he tripped. He felt the toe of his shoe snag on a tree root, the world suddenly pitching forward.

In the split second between registering that he was falling and hitting the ground, he was able to get his arms up to protect his head. This spared his head from smacking into the ground, but it meant his arms took the blunt of the impact. His right arm and shoulder held, but the left could not. The pain that had already made itself known, was nothing compared to the agony that now ripped into his abused body.

The scream that came from him was soul-wrenching, the sound of a wounded animal. Anyone hearing such a cry could hope whatever had produced it, was finally dead, freeing it from whatever torment it was suffering. Sadly, Finn wasn’t dead. His voice cracked as the scream died, turning into a strangled whimper as he lay there, face down on the ground. For a time he didn’t move, other than shiver violently from time to time. The pain was slow to fade, his body and mind were numb.

Slowly, ever so carefully, he rolls onto his right side. His left arm slides bonelessly across his chest, finally falling limp at his side as he comes to a rest on his back. Opening his eyes, he stares up into the starry night sky peeking through the foliage overhead. No thoughts drifted in his abused mind, no feeling, just emptiness. After a while, it strangely felt peaceful.

For the first time in many months, if not longer, he felt somewhat at peace. All the fussing, the hurting, the worrying, the hiding. Dealing with everyone, doing whatever asked no matter the cost, no matter how he felt. It now felt worthless. It seemed so important, so vital to his existence, now it felt like a fading dream. He still felt disconnected from his body, but his mind was clear.

He was still bleeding, he could feel the warm dampness that soaked his shirt. A wave of nausea rolls through his guts, making him gag. Grunting, he rolls back on his right side before his stomach disgorges itself. Nothing but bile comes, burning his already aching throat. Coughing, white sparkles flash before his eyes as the pain in his skull returns. During all of this, he never did stop his shivering, despite the warm night air.

With amount of damage inflicted on his body, he should be a cold corpse on the ground. **_How am I still breathing?_** A memory, or the ghost of one, rushes to the forefront of his thoughts, destroying the last fragments of the fragile blanket of peace that had settled over him.

A tear rolls down his cheek, dripping off his chin to soak into the dirt beneath him. He knew why he was still alive.

“It’s… not enough.” His voice is raspy, his throat feels like there is ground glass coating it. It’s not enough, his debit is not yet paid. Her life was worth more than his ever could amount to, no matter how hard he tries. Another tear races down the track the first cut across his skin. He wants to be done, but it’s not enough. Sobbing softly, struggling with the last of his failing strength, he manages to drag himself toward the nearest tree, propping himself mostly upright against the rough bark.

Sitting there, panting, he forces his right hand to his pocket, scrounging blindly for the glass vial. Catching the edge of the fabric, he pushes his fingers in to only have something slice into the skin. Gasping, he yanks his hand out, bringing it up to view his injured digits. The first two fingers are bleeding, but there was a thick green fluid mixed in with the bright red. Letting his hand fall, he concedes defeat.

That potion was the only reason he was moving, only reason he was still alive. With the last dose gone, he had no clue how he was going to move, let alone escape both Marceline and Bubblegum. They couldn’t just leave him alone, they would come after him.

With the weight of defeat settling over him, he let his heavy eyes drift shut. Either way, it was over. He fought everything, everyone for so long, he had nothing left to give. He couldn't manage to bring his broken body to move anymore. His stomach gave another lurch, but he kept from gagging this time. Not like there was anything to bring up.

If he slept, he knew it would it might help. Of course, he might also never wake. Or something out here might find him, defenseless and finish him off. He had more than a few enemies, not even taking into account all the wild creatures that roamed the land of Ooo.

"Fuck all of it....I don't care anymore." He whispers, the faint sound lost to the night around him. Giving in, his chin falls to his chest and he lets the darkness come claim him. Perhaps his wish would finally come true.

* * *

 

"Are you sure that tracker is working?" Marceline growls, shifting her grip on the candy woman. She was flying, arms around the waist of the candy woman, allowing her to dangle loose beneath her. Normally, flying, even carrying another person, was no issue, but they had been searching for over an hour.

“Yes, it looks like he’s stopped.” Bubblegum holds up the scanner, allowing the vampire to see the small flashing dot in the middle of the green screen. They had been chasing that dot, through the candy floss forest, into the normal thicker woods beyond. The biggest problem with Bubblegum’s machine, it couldn’t narrow down his location to more than 100 yards from theirs. Below them spread a massive sea of green foliage, most of it thick enough that the ground couldn’t be seen.

"Where?" Slowing down, she hangs in the air, drifting in a circle while Bubblegum holds out her scanner. After two rotations, Bubblegum growls, shaking her machine harshly.

"He's got to be under the trees. I can’t get a better lock and can’t see through the leaves." PB points toward a small break in the foliage "Head over there." Spying the clearing, Marcy dips, rapidly lowing toward the earth. A foot above the ground, Marcy lets PB drop, landing behind her. Landing on her feet, PB shakes herself, then holds out the scanner, turning in place. Keeping one eye on the candy woman, Marcy steps toward the darkened forest. Finn was in there, maybe hiding or worse. Maybe.....

"This way." Bubblegum interrupts her dismal thought. Lifting up, she flies over to PB, hovering over her shoulder as woman heads to the underbrush. Thankfully, once they clear the brush surrounding the clearing, the woods thins out some. It was still dense, the thin tall trunks are closely spaced. The whole area was a sea of shifting shadows as the canopy above moves in the slight wind. Marcy’s eyes where better than PB’s, but even here, she was going to have trouble spying Finn.

They pick their way through the forest, surprisingly neither of them making much noise. Marcy floating, PB stepping carefully in the gloom. Stopping, Marcy turns, opening her mouth to ask PB a question but the machine in the monarch’s hands starts to beep. Marcy drops out of the air beside PB, peering at the screen’s flashing dot. They were closer, maybe 50 yards or less.

Annoyed at the slowness of their search, Marcy breaks the silence, shouting. "Finn! Where are you?"

* * *

 

Jerking, he regains consciousness as the sound of his name hits his ears. Tensing, he listens. Sure enough, his name spoken again. Groaning, he strains to push himself up, but fails to do much more than wiggle weakly. They were searching for him, the nearness of the voice means they had to be close. The need to escape was strong, but his body resists his effort. Falling limp, the darkness claims him again, shutting off any thought.

* * *

 

Marcy stops abruptly, Bubblegum almost walking into her back.

"Marcy, what's wrong?" The vampire has her head up, sniffing the air. She takes a few steps forward then her head snaps around to the left. Leaps forward, rising into the air, dashing through the trees. Bubblegum instantly starts after her, not bothering to ask what the vampire found. Her tracker was good, but Marcy's nose was better. Flying through the tangle of trunks wasn’t much faster than PB’s running, they catch up to each other just as they burst out from under the thick canopy, into a small clearing.

There before them, sitting against a tree was Finn, his head rolled forward against his chest. The sight was enough to halt both woman for a span of breaths, neither wanting to believe what their eyes are showing them. Marcy moves first, dropping to the ground and rushing over to the human's side. Bubblegum slings her bag around from her back, tearing open the flap to shove the scanner inside. Digging around, she starts moving as she pulls out a small first aid box.

Marcy drops to her knees at Finn's side, not quite sure if she should touch him or not. He looked worse than he did earlier, almost dead. If it wasn’t for the ragged shallow breathing, she would have thought they arrived too late. Reaching out, she stops, her fingers inches from his body. The scent of blood was thick, she could see a dark stain spreading from his left shoulder down across his chest. As much as she wanted to touch him, she held back, afraid of what her darker side might try. On the opposite side, Bubblegum drops down, reaching for the side of Finn's neck. Her pink fingers search and finally locate a weak beat.

"He's alive." Marcy let the breath she was holding escape between her teeth. Seeing him motionless like this made her worst fears come alive in her head. She, who oozed the aura of toughness, held a hidden heartfelt weakness for those she claimed were her friends. All bark, very little bite, but she had a reputation to up hold. But now, staring down at one of her closest friends, injured and quite possibly dying, her cold heart hurt. Turning toward PB, she waits to see what the other woman could do to help.

Bubblegum had already put the box down, flipping it open the cover. Laying aside various medical supplies, she digs through the chaotic mess. She wants to wake him up, fast. Awake, it would be easier to gauge how bad off he was, plus he might be able to supply necessary information so she could figure out the best way to help. Her fingers brush past a small pill-shaped object out, the very item she wanted. Pulling it out, she promptly cracks it in the middle, then shakes it. Leaning over, she waves it underneath Finn’s face. Marcy simply sat there, unable to figure out what the other woman was trying to accomplish. As the Princess waved the capsule around, she caught a whiff of a strong scent, harsh and chemical, that made she reel back, covering her nose.

The smell hit him hard, ripping him out of the comforting darkness that he had sunk into. Jerking upright, he sat forward, gagging on the wretched smell. A hand pressed against his right shoulder, keeping him from slumping over. Slowly as his coughing subsides, he opens his eyes. The sight swimming before him, was sickly twisted, half formed and confusing. Two circles, one grey and one pink hovered in in a sea of dark. Closing his eyes, he leans forward against the hand, a groan rising out of him.

"Finn, can you understand me?" The voice was familiar, demanding and condescending at the same. It took several seconds before he could put a face to the sound. Princess Bubblegum. **_They found me!_** He shakes his head, not to her question but toward his own inner battle. To force his sluggish mind into working. He wanted to avoid them, to run away. They couldn’t find out what was wrong. They couldn’t understand, wouldn’t. They would react horribly, not just at his current condition, but both for letting himself get this way and running away. Glob help him, if they manage to figure out he was the one responsible for his current condition.

"Finn? Finn.” The hand holding him up shakes him. “Can you stand? Help me get him up." The hand left, replaced by two grabbing his good arm. Blinking rapidly, he tries to resist the force pulling at him. His left arm hurt, but he was able to rise it enough to slap at the hands holding his other arm. The grip tightened as another set of hands grab his flailing appendage. It had to be Marceline who was doing the moving, the grip was stronger than he knew Bubblegum could produce. With one final tug, he finds himself on his feet, wobbling slightly. Lifting his head, he opens his eyes to glare at the two women.

* * *

 

"Finn, what is going on?" Marcy asks, gripping tightly to Finn’s arm. He was on his feet, barely, but up. Bubblegum as kneeling on the ground, digging through the aid box. Looking back up, she gazes directly into Finn’s blue eyes. What she sees there, she honestly can’t believe. He looked angry, perhaps even furious at her. It made no sense, she knew he hated showing weakness or asking for help, but that shouldn’t be a valid reason for the hate she saw directed at her. Something was very wrong with her friend.

“Why do you care?” His voice sounds horrible, horse and gravely, but full of the emotion he was glaring at her. At her feet, PB looks up, staring at Finn in shock. This wasn’t the Finn either of them knew. Their Finn rarely let such negative emotions come out, let alone direct them toward his friends. PB shakes herself, turning to franticly continue digging though the box, leaving Marcy to deal with an angry Finn.

"What? You were sick back at the castle, and instead of letting me help, you run off. Of course I care, you’re my friend, Finn. This is not like you, what’s wrong?" She keeps her gaze on his face, trying to understand what was running though his mind. **_Was it a simple illness, possession? Magic?_** Bubblegum stands, taking in the interaction between them, alarmed because this was the first time she was told he might have been ill.

"You were sick? When?” Marcy had told her that he rushed off, showing her the blood stain on her hand. She failed to mention anything about him being sick, only injured. He turns his face toward her, the hatred in his eyes made her cringe back.

"It doesn't matter." He can't hold back a chuckle. All his well reined in emotions felt like they were beating their way out of him. What did he have to lose? It might be cruel, but they had this coming for a long time. She had the gall to act concerned for his welfare. Her words and her emotion grated against him like a raw wound. She was a confliction in terms, pretend to care, knowing it would get him to do what she wanted. First she would seem worried, then she would belittle him for acting foolish. For distracting her, tearing her away from her castle and the stupid search for her oh so precious machine. All she wants is a tool out of him.

"Yes it does! Why didn't you say you weren't feeling well? Your health is more import...."

"Right, because if your tool isn't capable of doing your demands, what good is he?" He snaps, cutting her off. She blinks at him, confusion setting in. Marcy, stunned into silence, just stands there, shocked at his sudden and drastic change in behavior.

"Finn, what are you..."

"Shut up." Silence echoes around them as both woman freeze. PB's eyes drift over to Marcy's, they both clearly know something is very wrong with Finn. He doesn't act like this, ever.

"Finn, it's alright, if you're sick..."

"I said, shut up!" Bubblegum stumbles back, crossing her arms over her chest protectively. The venom in his voice was frightening, never had she ever heard him sound like this. Never had he spoken to her with such anger. Bubblegum had things to fear, but never once did she count Finn as one of them. Marcy loosens her grip on his arm, staring at the human as if he was a stranger. Anger fuels him, refilling him with strength he thought spent.

"Finn, I..."

"SHUT UP!" She jumps, cringing back further. He steps toward the cowering monarch, his face twisting into a snarl.

"I'm tired of being your lackey, your damn lap dog!" He takes another step forward, pure hate written across his pale face. Rage flowed up from within, bubbling out from that dark place he shoved all the bad junk. The stuff he couldn’t, no he refused to deal with. His head was pounding, he could taste blood on his tongue, but he didn't care if his skull exploded. All the years of putting up with her selfish bullshit, of being used and cast aside. Discarded until she deemed him useful once again. No more. Gritting his teeth in pain, he raises his hand, pointing accusingly at the candy woman.

"I'm not your fucking servant! I am NOT DISPOSSIBLE!" His breath came in great gasps, his heart was now pounding. Years of slowly building anger was finally coming to a boil. He tries to take another step forward, but Marcy suddenly tightens her grip on his arm. For a brief moment, he had forgotten about the vampire, another of his so called friends. She wasn’t much better than Bubblegum, she used him for her needs as much as her.

"Finn, calm down. PB is..."

"NO!" He screams, clenching his fist. Before she can react, he swings around, punching her dead on in the face with every ounce of rage he contained. If it had been anyone other than the vampire, he may have killed them with the force behind his punch. As it was her, she flew backwards, landing on her back several feet away. Bubblegum gives a slight scream, darting to the side. Finn lets the woman pass, glaring at her with utter contempt.

Marcy moans, lying on the ground, both hands covering her face. Bubblegum comes over to her, dropping to her knees beside the vampire. Finn turns away, taking a shaky step away from both of them.

"Leave me alone!" He screams. As much hate he currently felt toward both of them, he can’t stop the tear that runs down his face. They were his friends, even if they treated him like crap more often than not. He was guilty of letting them use him, as much as they were guilty of abusing his trust, his friendship. Dear Glob. It was easier to hate them, to have them hate him, than know the truth. **_I can't let them know._**

Bubblegum tries to pull Marcy's hands away, to assess the damage, but is pushed away suddenly as the vampire sits bolt upright. Her face is a mask of rage, blood dripping from her broken nose, over her lips that were drawn back into a snarl. Her eyes glow bright red. Bubblegum scrambles back, giving the vampire space, unconsciously knowing better than to try and stop her.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" She roars, leaping to her feet. Her appearance was changing as her anger grew. **_How the dare he fucking hit her!_**

"You stupid little brat, what the fuck is your damn problem?" She steps toward him, her hands now clawed, her teeth elongated. If he wanted to fight, she would give him a fight. She would make him pay for striking her. In front of her, Finn stops, titling his head to the side.

"I don't want or need your help, Mar…ce…line." He drags out her name, taunting her. She growls, her anger driving normal thought from her head. Leaping at him, she reaches out with her claws. She would teach the arrogant brat to never touch her again. Finn, still fueled by his rage, turns to face her, drawing his sword.

Continuing his swing, he brings the weapon up, aiming at the shape barreling at him. Marceline sees him move, recognizing his attack. Somehow she manages to stop her forward momentum, bringing her to a stop just outside the arch of the blade. The tip of his sword whistles by, right under her chin. Her eyes go wide as it occurs to her that he had put his full strength into that swing. For whatever reason, wasn't playing or pulling his punches. She drops to the ground, crouching down in a defensive stance.

"Stupid little boy, you should know better than to pull a sword on me...." She snarls at him, watching the look on his face change into something that probably reflected what her face looked like. There was hate there, rage even, he was genuinely mad at her. As they stood there, facing off, a thought worms through her angered brain. It was was so random, so out from far left field, she isn’t sure how it even managed to occur to her. It made no sense, but in some sick way, it did. A sudden understanding comes over her, draining the small portion of rage from her.

"Drop the sword, Finn. NOW!" Her words lack the anger that they did seconds ago. Finn wouldn’t attack her, not like this. He was driving her to fight him, to strike out at him. She had to stop him before something bad happens.

Instead of obeying, he raises the blade up, gripping it with both hands. He drops into a crouch, steadying himself as best as he could manage. Moving his injured limb made him grimace but he refuses to simply bow down to her. No more. Meeting her gaze, he readies himself. Perhaps he could make her do what he couldn't.

"Take it from me, bitch." 

* * *

 

Bubblegum stood behind her friends, watching in horror as the human and vampire ready themselves to attack. This couldn't be happening, it felt unnatural, unreal. She had to do something fast. In his current condition, Marceline could tear Finn to pieces without even trying, if he didn’t drop dead on the spot. Looking around, she searches for anything that could help her.  Taking her eyes off them, she almost missed Marcy rushing Finn. She saw the movement, turning to watch Finn twist around, swinging his sword at her. Marceline, by whatever grace was smiling down on her, was able to stop in time so the sword misses, but just barely. Even from this distance, she can hear the whistle as it cut through the air.  Finn wasn’t playing, he was honestly attacking Marceline.

Both of them drop into battle stances, ready to spring at the other. The two of them may end up killing each other if she couldn't do anything to stop it. An idea suddenly pops into her frantic mind, the last hope she had that she could stop Finn. Spinning, she runs over to her bag. Dropping to her knees, she franticly digs through it, searching for the one possible thing that may save Finn's life. As her fingers touch the round tube, she gives a cry, leaping back to her feet. **_Now if I can get close enough_**... She looks up as the two of them jump at each other.

* * *

 

Marceline can't believe her ears. It has been a long time since anyone had the balls to call her a bitch. Roaring, she leaps at the human, claws extended. Finn jumps forward, swinging up diagonally. Instinctively, she knew the counter-attack, flying to the side and under, aiming a punch at his exposed stomach. How the hell did he think he was going to win against her? They spent years dueling, practicing with each other until they could dance around each other for hours without either scoring a hit. If he was his normal self, she might have been worried, but he was fighting like an injured animal. Her earlier thought now makes more sense.

He knew that she would go for that move, it would disable him and end the fight fast. Releasing his two-handed grip, he pivots on one leg, twisting backward just far enough that her punch breezes by his stomach. Since she wasn't sure if he could avoid her punch, she shot past him. But instead of turning to face him, as soon as her feet were past, she kicks out with a foot. Finn, not expecting this fails to move fast enough, letting her kick connect solidly to his knee. With a shout of pain, he drops to one knee, but swung out wildly, hoping to prevent her from striking at his back.

She didn’t halt her flight after dealing her kick, so his swing was worthless. Barrel-rolling, she turns to face him. She had to stop him before he landed a hit, or did more damage to himself. Then she saw his fatal flaw. He had the sword in his left hand, his left shoulder was damaged. Flinging herself back, she curves to the right, under the sword tip, snaking out a hand to catch his wrist. Twisting, she rotates his arm harshly, then instead of driving him down, she flies straight up, yanking him completely off the ground.

As soon as she caught his wrist, he knew it was over. The twist came, sending arrows of searing agony through his arm and shoulder. The next move would be to wrench the arm behind him, forcing him to the ground. Imagine his surprise when more pain floods him as he finds himself pulled off him feet by his arm. Unable to stop himself, he screams, the sound ripped from him. His fingers spasm, allowing the blade to slip from his grasp.

Watching his weapon fall, Marcy slowly lowers him till his feet just touch the ground. Releasing his wrist, he collapses to his knees, forcing another scream from him. Defeated and barely conscious, he falls forward, ending up with his forehead touching the damp earth. His chest burned, his lungs felt seized, they refused to pull in air. His injured arm lies twisted beside him, numb from the shoulder to the fingertips.

She lands lightly behind him. His scream was startling, but she needed this to end now. Reaching down, she grabs him by the back of the neck, pressing hard enough her claws indent, but don’t break the skin. Leaning over, she pulls him up so she can snarl into his ear. He gasps, limp in her hands, defeated.

"I don't know what the fuck is your problem, but it ends now."  She squeezes slightly, making him groan. His blue eyes met her red ones, his glassy with pain. She knows she hurt him.

"No...." He croaks. His mind was made up, he had one last ace up his sleeve. All he could hope was that she would be so angered, she would react before thinking.  Holding his breath, he tenses, balling his fist.

Marcy couldn't believe her ears. Finn was beaten, disarmed and on his knees. **_What could he possibly_**.... The thought is cut off as he brings up his good hand, successfully landing a strike to her temple. Shouting, she shoves him forward, staggering off to the side. Griping her head, it’s everything she can do to stay upright, fighting back the lights flashing across her vision. With the last of his failing strength, Finn crawls to his feet. Standing there, panting, he watching Marcy try to shake off the blow to her head. All he had to do was wait for her to retaliate and then, it would finally be over.

"I'm sorry Finn." The voice from behind him startles him, making his eyes snap wide open. He had forgotten about Bubblegum, placing his bet on Marceline to do his dirty work. Before he can act, he feels something stab him in the back. Grabbing at his back, he tries turning, stumbling. Bubblegum, stands behind him, hands holding an empty syringe. His vision blurring, he forces his leg to take a single step toward her. Bubblegum backs away as he glares at her, fearing the tranquilizer wouldn't work fast enough. As she starts to think about moving further away, his eyes roll back and he crumples to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. She stands still waiting to make sure he wasn’t faking, but truly out.

"Dear Glob, did you kill him?" PB turns toward the voice. Marcy was standing a few feet away, staring at her. PB swallows before shaking her head. Turning back to Finn, she kneels down, feeling for his pulse again. It was there, but weaker than before.

"Tranquilizer. Now come help me before he does."


End file.
